The Wolf Princess: The Wolf PrincessOne Eye Open (The Pack)

by Karen Whiddon

  Flushing red, Alisa shook her head in disbelief. “Mother, for the love of… He cannot see!”

  “He can still touch,” the queen responded grimly. “As well as do other things.”

  Completely and totally embarrassed, Alisa glanced sideways at her father’s back. He stood stiffly, staring silently out the window, a flush creeping up his neck.

  “First off, you both know I am not beautiful.” She held up her hand when her mother started to protest. “Secondly, I can assure you that any interest the doctor has in me is strictly for his research.”

  “You are very beautiful to me,” her mother put in softly. “And that is why I am concerned.”

  “You have absolutely nothing to worry about,” Alisa said to both her parents as she headed toward the door, face flaming. “I can promise you that.”

  Then, aware she didn’t have permission to do so, she left anyway, fleeing down the long hall toward her bedroom.

  * * *

  After being completely and thoroughly grilled by two harsh-voiced men from the king’s security detail, Braden was finally permitted to go to his room. He’d been unable to provide many details, since he hadn’t seen anything.

  Once he’d made his escape, he hurried down the hallway, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other while using his cane to tap out a path before him. His wolf had finally quieted, as physically exhausted as his human self was mentally.

  When he reached the sanctuary of his room, he had barely enough energy to make it to the bed. Yanking back the sheets, he climbed up, fully clothed, and pulled them over him. The instant his head hit the pillow, he closed his eyes and willingly let the blissful oblivion of sleep overtake him.

  He woke on his own. Still groggy from the brief but intense nap, he pushed himself up on his elbows and checked his watch. Nearly dinnertime. His stomach growled, making him realize food would be his next major concern. But he didn’t want to trudge back down to the kitchen. If he were staying in a hotel rather than the palace, he’d simply pick up the phone and call room service.

  Did the palace offer a similar convenience?

  A soft tap at his door interrupted his musings. Braden hoped that it would be someone from the kitchen with a late afternoon snack.

  Smoothing down his no doubt rumpled clothing, he put on his dark glasses and pulled open the door. “Yes?”

  “A message for Dr. Streib,” a deep voice intoned formally.

  “All right.” Braden waited. “What is it?”

  “Here.” The man bumped him with a silver tray. “Please take it.”

  Braden did. The paper felt heavy and fine, with ornate engraving at the top. “Nice paper.” He handed it back.

  “Sir?” The poor man sounded bewildered. “You haven’t looked at it.”

  Obviously, this servant wasn’t familiar with him. Slowly removing his sunglasses, Braden gave the man time to take note of his sightless eyes. “Since I obviously can’t read it, would you be kind enough to tell me what the note says?”

  “Your presence is requested to escort the princess at a formal dinner tonight,” the servant intoned. “The event will be held in the main ballroom at eight o’clock this evening.”

  An elaborate dinner. On the same day that an attempt had been made on their daughter’s life. What were they thinking? Of course, planning an event like this took time. No doubt this dinner had been planned for weeks, even months. The king and queen must have weighed the risks with their security detail and decided to go ahead and have it. After all, canceling at the very last minute would cause their invited guests major inconvenience. Braden would just bet the security would be extraordinarily tight.

  Three hours away. His stomach growled again, reminding him that he needed to eat now. If he could just find something, preferably some sort of protein, like a thick, juicy steak, cooked rare, to tide him over. Then he’d gladly go to the formal thing. Hounds knew he could easily eat twice.

  Thanking the man, Braden closed the door and grimaced. Formal. That meant a tux. Not only did he not own one, but he’d honestly never worn a tuxedo in his life. Even when the faculty had dinners or parties, a simple sports jacket and slacks had been deemed dressy enough. But that was academia and the extremely casual town of Boulder, Colorado. Not the royal court in Teslinko.

  Ignoring his hunger pangs, he sat down on the edge of his bed. Right now, he had two options. He could pretend he’d never received the invitation and take a meal in his room or he could put on his best and only suit and pretend not to understand what the word formal meant.

  In the end, he guessed he’d better go. If he skipped out, the royal family might take insult and toss him out on his ear. If he at least made the attempt, at the worst they’d simply assume he was an ignorant American and laugh at him behind his back. He didn’t care much about that. All his life he’d been considered different and odd and had trained himself to either ignore unkind words or to rise above them.

  Fumbling in his closet, he found the jacket and slacks and a button-down shirt. Since he couldn’t decipher colors, he had developed a system. He’d had Xs sewn on the label of each shirt. One X meant white, two blue, three yellow, and so on.

  He’d shower and then get dressed. Maybe if he was lucky, he could put in a token appearance at this dinner, scarf down some food and make a quiet and unnoticed escape.

  In addition to avoiding Alisa and his disquieting feelings for her, he needed to do some quiet investigating to determine who had been the target earlier. If it was him, he could deal with that.

  But if it was the princess, he had to figure out a way to keep her safe until the perpetrator could be caught.

  Chapter 8

  Alisa despised formal dinners. Her sisters were fortunate in that since they’d married, they no longer lived at the palace and weren’t required to be present. She and her younger brother weren’t so fortunate. Since her parents considered marrying Alisa off to be their next project, these events had become a sort of sophisticated torture. The king and queen always made sure to invite numerous eligible bachelors and had given Alisa strict instructions to be pleasant so she could be eyed the way a farmer eyes a new mare.

  And she had to pretend as though she was actually participating, as though she possibly could consider one of these men as her potential mate.

  Which meant consenting to dances, allowing them to bring her drinks and tidbits of food, and smiling through excruciatingly dull conversations. Worse, she wasn’t allowed to leave for at least three hours. And after the last dinner, when she’d indulged in one too many glasses of wine in order to make the boredom more palatable, she’d been told she could not have more than three glasses of wine. The entire night long. They were so strict with this rule that they hired one person solely to keep an eye on her.

  Since he’d agreed to be her escort, she knew Braden would attend as well. This lightened her heart. At least she’d have an ally, someone she could talk to instead of being constantly badgered by uninteresting men attempting futilely to gain her favor.

  And, if she admitted the truth to herself, she could fully explore her inner wolf’s belief that Braden was her mate.

  Though she still wasn’t certain there even was such a thing, she couldn’t deny her attraction to him.

  Because it was expected of her, she rang for her maids and allowed them to dress her in one of her new, sparkly designer gowns. Daydreaming while they applied her makeup and piled her hair on her head in an elaborate updo, she thought about how much she’d enjoyed her time as wolf earlier in the day, before the idiot had taken potshots at them.

  For the first time in a long while, she’d actually found joy in her lupine half. She could only believe that Braden changing to wolf with her had been the reason. The more time she spent with the man, the more she wanted. If he was her mate, she assumed making love with him would be phenomenal. Just thinking about it made her quiver inside.

  Turning the corner, she saw that his door was open and
her heart skipped a beat. He must be about to leave for the dinner. Maybe they could walk down to the main dining hall together.

  Moving quietly, well aware of his excellent hearing, she crossed to the doorway and stopped without entering the room.

  He stood there facing the doorway, as though he’d been waiting for her. He wore a suit. And he wore it really well, considering. For a moment she lost her ability to breathe, watching him as he turned and moved confidently throughout the maze of equipment, his lack of vision not appearing to hinder him in the slightest.

  In her long, custom-made designer gown, she watched him, her mouth dry, her heart in her throat. She wondered why he didn’t wear a tux, then decided it really didn’t matter. He looked wonderful and dangerous and insanely attractive as it was.

  And therein lay the crux of her problem.

  She didn’t know why, but this man made her insides melt and her heart ache. In an odd way, she found him beautiful, with the unique kind of confident presence of the truly original. His assurance, despite his disability, along with his intelligence and—she refused to lie to herself—his boyishly rumpled good looks and tall, lean body drew her to him even more.

  Which was not a good thing at all. Though she knew she had to keep this foolish attraction under control, she couldn’t seem to make herself stop feeling it, no matter how she rationalized.

  “Alisa?” The sharpness of his tone told her how much he hated not being able to see. Then, a heartbeat later, he nodded. “Is that you, Alisa?”

  Could he actually discern her scent from clear across the room?

  “Yes, it’s me. I’m here.” Schooling herself for the absurd tightening of her body that was her reaction to him, she kept her tone as cool and detached as possible. As though the mere sight of him didn’t make her tremble in some deep, visceral place. Which managed to both infuriate and intrigue her.

  He went absolutely still. After a moment, he turned to face her, dark glasses still in place. Though he’d somehow been able to coordinate his suit, shirt and tie, he’d also managed to button his shirt unevenly, completely missing the second button, so the rest of them did not align.

  She debated for a heartbeat before crossing the room and reaching for his buttons.

  As soon as she touched him, her stomach lurched with excitement. He tried to move away. She stopped him with a firm grasp of his arm.

  “Hold still,” she ordered. “I need to fix your shirt.”

  His jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Thank you. I usually check it myself, but I’m a bit tense over this dinner. As I’m sure you know, I’ve been summoned to be your escort tonight.”

  “Of course you are.” Deliberately keeping her tone light, she couldn’t keep herself from smoothing down his tie. “You promised, after all. I have to say, you look very handsome, all dressed up.”

  “Don’t do that,” he said as she finished fixing his buttons.

  Suddenly she remembered. “The flirting thing?”

  “Yes. I hate it.”

  Circling him slowly, pretending to search for a flaw in his appearance, she made it back to the front of him and sighed. “Didn’t you ever flirt? You must have, back when you were younger and carefree.”

  “Never. It’s a colossal waste of time, as far as I’m concerned.”

  She sighed. “You won’t hear any argument from me there. I have to attend these dinners at least once a month, sometimes more. And flirting is expected of me. So, I’ve learned to be quite good at it.”

  He nodded, apparently at a loss for words.

  “It’ll be fine,” she said, feeling like a breathless girl about to go on her first date. “You might even have fun.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Looking at her, she saw determination in the rigid set of his jaw. “But I’m ready.”

  Despite his closed-off expression, she could sense his vulnerability. “Then let’s go.”

  He didn’t move. “Since I’m your escort, will you stay by my side?”

  Her heart lurched. “Of course.”

  “Thank you. I’ve got my cane, so I can find my way back here if you end up making other plans. It’s just that there are going to be a lot of people, from the sound of it, and I don’t want to risk breaking anyone’s kneecaps or ankles with my cane flailing.” His tense expression relaxed into a hesitant, but utterly beautiful masculine smile.

  She laughed, her chest aching. “You made a joke! I’m delighted.”

  And then, just like that, his smile disappeared. “Never mind,” he told her, backing away. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t need an escort. As a matter of fact, I’m reconsidering even attending at all.”

  Refusing to let his harsh tone deter her, she advanced on him. “Why? Just because I gave you a compliment and took pleasure in your humor?”

  “I’ve already told you, I don’t play those kind of games.”

  “I’m not playing anything,” she protested. “I really meant what I said.”

  “Then you need to be careful.” Rather than retreating, he stood his ground as she advanced on him.

  Something made her want to be wild and reckless. “Why?” she asked. “Why do I need to be careful?”

  “Because if you keep up this skillful flirting of yours, I’m likely to do this.” And he caught her by the shoulders and crushed her to him, slanting his mouth hard over hers.

  * * *

  The kiss started out damn near perfect, a sensual merging of lips that felt as natural as shifting to wolf had earlier. It felt…right. More than that. Perfect. Braden had dreamt of this, ached for this, in truth ever since he’d first heard the sexy sound of her throaty voice.

  Crazy. Foolish. And not at all like him.

  Despite this, he craved more, much more. He wanted to do things with her that someone like him had no business wanting to do with a royal princess.

  And that was enough reason to make him realize he needed to stop. Right this instant.

  He broke off the kiss and moved away, feeling oddly bereft. “My apologies,” he told her, stiffly formal. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “I didn’t mind.” Rather than furious, she sounded strangely elated. “Why apologize for something we both clearly enjoyed?”

  Enjoyed?

  He scratched the back of his neck, momentarily dumbfounded. “Because you’re a princess, and I’m just a man.” Brutal honesty seemed the best way to go.

  “That matters nothing to me.” The happiness still echoed in her voice, inviting him to smile with her.

  Instead, he forced himself to continue as though she hadn’t spoken. “And I’m blind and you can see.”

  “Don’t.” She placed her hand alongside his cheek, the warmth of her soft touch both startling and arousing him. “You cannot help that. Don’t ever apologize for what happened to you.”

  “Why shouldn’t I? You can see when my shirt isn’t properly buttoned, or if I have on the wrong color shoes. You know my hair color, my features and how I’m built. While I don’t even have the slightest idea what you even look like.”

  She paused before speaking. “Does that honestly matter?”

  “Yes, it matters.” He cursed, aching and furious and afraid, all at once. “I could pick your scent out of a crowd of a thousand others, your voice is as familiar to me as my own, but I have no idea as to the color of your hair, or your eyes, or whether you are fair-skinned or dark. It’s strange to know someone as well as I feel I know you and have no idea how to picture them.”

  “I can remedy that,” she said, still standing far too close for his piece of mind. “My hair is brown with red highlights, my eyes are green and my features are unremarkable.”

  Unremarkable. Only someone totally comfortable in their own skin would say such a thing. He wondered if she spoke the truth or merely the truth as she saw it.

  “I’m not lying,” she said calmly, as if she’d read his mind. “But if you doubt me, if you really want to know, you can touch me and see for yourself.”
And without waiting for his response, she took his hands and placed them on her face.

  At the first feel of her silky skin under his fingertips, he froze, his blood roaring in his ears.

  “Go ahead.” She held herself perfectly still.

  He could swear he still heard a trace of desire in her throaty voice. He swallowed tightly, his body instantly responding with a fierceness that astounded him.

  “Touch me,” she urged, trembling under his hand, which only unnerved him more. “Please.”

  Heart thumping erratically, he took a deep breath. Then, as though unable to help himself, he let his fingers glide over her skin, slowly, gently, aroused and curious and feeling awed, as if he stood in the presence of something holy.

  Alisa. This was Alisa.

  Exploring her face, he tried to form a picture. She held her breath, he held his, and when they exhaled at the same time, breaths mingling with each other, his arousal swelled to unbelievable proportions.

  Despite the intensity of his desire, he kept himself in check. This was too important to give in to base, carnal needs, no matter how powerful. The scientist in him—no, the man in him—needed to know her face. Needed to know more than merely a voice and a tantalizing scent. Needed to know her.

  Memorizing each hollow, each swell of cheekbone and chin, he trailed his fingers over her smooth, silky skin. She stood motionless, and trembled again when he stroked her lush lips, parting them for him. Sweeping slowly up the curve of her cheek, he placed his fingertips on her temples, where the slightest pulse beat riotously. He lingered there, then gently and reverently swept over her eyes. Her lashes were long and thick, framing eyes that seemed to have a faintly almond-shaped curve.

  Dropping his hands, body throbbing, he stepped back, trying to form a mental image. With shock he realized his princess was beautiful, heart-stoppingly gorgeous. Of course she was. Weren’t princesses usually?

  For some reason, this knowledge disconcerted him. Uncomfortable, suddenly ill at ease, he kept his hands at his sides and took another step back. Once, beautiful women had flocked to him, but that had been before his accident. Now, they avoided him like the plague. No one wanted damaged goods.